


Milk, Tea, Wax

by rfsmiley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Divinity Kink, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Painplay, inspired by another fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 22:16:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20478341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rfsmiley/pseuds/rfsmiley
Summary: They negotiate, and most of the time, it's fine.(Inspired by Consecrated Ground by equestrianstatue)





	Milk, Tea, Wax

**Author's Note:**

  * For [equestrianstatue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/equestrianstatue/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Consecrated Ground](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20349538) by [equestrianstatue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/equestrianstatue/pseuds/equestrianstatue). 

> uh hi I read Consecrated Ground and lost my damn mind. that's all.  
This probably will not make sense unless you read that fic first.

*

Most of the time, it’s fine.

It’s an adventure, even. Crowley is reminded powerfully of the days when humans were first learning how to harness electricity, the mad contraptions, the rash desire to understand, men running out into oncoming storms armed with nothing with a key and a kite. He also thinks, feverishly, for the first time, that Aziraphale should never, ever have been trusted with a flaming sword – he can’t even be trusted with a _mouth_, lips he wets intentionally and then puts on Crowley’s skin like candlewax, an instant of pain that is also soft as silk.

They experiment. They learn that divinity, much like capsaicin, is soothed by dairy (and Crowley doesn’t know whether to be amused or exasperated, the first time he’s out and his lover actually texts him _don’t forget to buy milk. _Of all the human nonsense – ). They choose a safeword, they test his limits. To Aziraphale’s chagrin and Crowley’s secret glee, they even go together to a Tesco to buy condoms.

“It’s just – the irony,” Aziraphale laments, holding the box. Crowley, looking at him, is fighting both hysterics and the powerful urge to immortalize the moment with a picture. He resists. Just. “Weren’t these one of yours, originally?”

“Originally,” Crowley says. “It got away from me a bit, though. Ribbing and flavored lube and all that – that wasn’t me.”

“Flavored?” Aziraphale says, eyes lighting up, and okay, he probably should have seen that coming.

“Let’s start with the basics,” he says.

That night, however, he thinks, somewhat hysterically, that there is really nothing _basic _about being wildly, insanely in love with an angel, and he really should just have gone for the most outlandish thing on the shelf, because when Aziraphale mouths wetly at the space between his shoulderblades it feels like someone is setting his wings on _fire_, and what is imitation chocolate jelly compared to that?

So yes, it’s fine, it’s better than fine, the whole thing overall is going better than he could have dreamed, except –

Except that when Aziraphale shares a forkful of cake and he comments unthinkingly on the tingling of the spice, the look in Aziraphale’s eyes is bewildered and then stricken –

Except that Aziraphale, on discovering actual burns on his fingers and in the hollows of his hips, and then on discovering that they can’t be miracled away, refuses to even touch him for days afterwards, which is somehow more agonizing than the marks themselves –

Except that there’s one morning when Crowley comes downstairs into the bookshop, wearing Aziraphale’s dressing gown, and Aziraphale is ensconced in his armchair with a copy of _Mansfield Park_, drowsing instead of reading, and Crowley –

Crowley, trying not to feel maudlin at the sight of his angel looking vulnerable, exhausted even, sets a caricatured winged mug on the side table (Darjeeling, no sugar, just a little too hot for his own taste), and stoops over him - and, lifting a sleep-tousled head, Aziraphale tilts his chin up to meet him, murmuring, “Oh, my dear, thank you –” 

He expects the kiss to be fond, but chaste.

It is decidedly not the latter.

Too late, Crowley remembers that a sleepy Aziraphale is an ardent Aziraphale, and the kiss is openmouthed – unguarded – blistering –

He stumbles, caught off-guard by the sheer surprise of it, the wet scalding heat lancing through him like a conduit, and his knee catches the table. The tea splashes.

“Oh,” says Aziraphale, suddenly awake, and his eyes are no longer bleary but sad. “Oh.”

Crowley wants to say _I’m sorry, _wants to say _don’t make this a thing _or _well, what did you expect? _He jerks back, hunching defensively, jamming his fists into the deep pockets of the dressing gown. He can’t quite bring himself to meet Aziraphale’s gaze.

“S’all right,” he mutters, moving to conceal his body’s reaction behind the back of the armchair.

“I’m so sorry,” says Aziraphale, and that stings too, albeit in an entirely different manner. “I just meant – I just wanted to –”

He can’t stand it. Crowley stoops again, presses their lips together insistently, and Aziraphale clamps his jaw firmly shut and responds with a closed-mouth kiss that actually makes Crowley wonder if he somehow got saliva in his _eyes. _He blinks hard.

“Darling,” says Aziraphale softly, looking at him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” says Crowley, hating that he sounds as miserable as he feels, and there it is, the sentiment slowly driving both of them mad.

“Oh, my dear,” and the angel touches his face with cautious fingers; at least fingers are safe, Crowley thinks, leaning into it. “We'll - we'll figure it out, all right?"

"All right," Crowley says, and tries to believe it.

They share what’s left of the mug of tea, Aziraphale passing it up mutely, Crowley handing it back after taking a polite sip or two. It may or may not still be a little too hot for him, but if it is, he frankly doesn’t plan to say a word about it.

"I love you," Aziraphale says, after a while.

"I know, angel." His lips are still smarting. "I know."


End file.
